


Alpha Dark

by JDRose



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alpha Billy Russo, Alpha Frank, Alpha/Alpha, Bottom Billy Russo, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Injured Billy Russo, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, top Frank Castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDRose/pseuds/JDRose
Summary: During a mission gone wrong, Sgt. Frank Castle  drags his injured suboordinate off the battlefield and into the safety of a cabin in the secluded Russian wilderness. While Billy heals from his injuries, and facing being hunted by thier own,  both men soon discover that some wounds cannot be healed.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Billy Russo, Frank Castle/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Frank has sworn to himself, if to no one else, to protect Billy no matter the cost. His safety is his #1 priority on the battlefield, orders be damned. So when it became clear that the fucking C.O. had marched them straight into a death trap, Frank's first goal was to get to Billy and keep him safe. 

So when he saw his second in command, his best friend, his brother take a hit to the head and fall backwards off the sniper's perch, Frank's heart went into his throat. He shoved past the others, bullets blazing by, climbing over stacks of fallen bodies to drag Billy out of the line of fire. 

"It's okay, Bill, I gotcha, you're alright," Frank rasps in his ear, gathering the motionless body of his Sergeant in his arms and striking off into the woods. 

This region of the Taiga is no less than 500 square miles of woodland, but luckily for them those Russian bastards love vacationing close to home. A few miles from camp Frank stumbles upon a moss-covered cabin, forgotten by time and worse for wear, but it’s shelter and Frank has everything he needs to ensure their survival right inside his rucksack. 

"Okay, okay stay with me." Frank slaps Billy when his eyes begin to roll back. He bursts into the cabin, unceremoniously dumping Billy onto the hardwood table in the center. He begins unstrapping his gear, letting his helmet tumble to the floor. "Ya still with me? Good. Good boy, that's right Billy, you beautiful bastard, keep looking at me." 

Frank inspects the area surrounding Billy’s neck and shoulders and is relieved when he sees his carotid artery has been left unscathed. Next, he inspects his head, the open gash bleeding profusely. Frank washes away what he can with the water in his canteen, keeping him steady as he stitches him up. Billy isn't conscious enough yet to fight him off, the most he can do is make pained moaning sounds and wriggle aimlessly, his muddy combat boots searching for purchase on the ragged wooden surface. 

"Sshhh, shhh, I know, brother. I know it hurts." 

Billy passes out from the pain halfway through. Frank ties the knot and cleans up what he can, then transfers Billy to the ragged old couch to sleep it off. Frank is able to locate a box of blankets that smell relatively clean, if a bit musty. He covers his partner with a few and then sets out to get a fire going


	2. Chapter 2

A half hour later, there is some MRE coffee brewing and a roaring fire in the hearth, and Frank begins stripping off some of his own gear. 

There is a moan from the couch, and Frank reaches a hand out to gently touch Billy's shoulder. "Morning sunshine," he says, a relieved smile playing across his face. "Don't try to move too fast, okay, babe?"

No chance of that, thinks Billy. He has awoken to a world of pain; all of his body is on fire, his head feels like it’s going to explode, and he’s pretty sure that if there was anything in his stomach he’d lose it. He searches his memory to try and work out just how the fuck they got here; he remembers breakfast in the mess tent, gearing up and then....and then pain.

“What happened?"

"Hey, you're alright...." Frank smooths Billy's dark hair back away from his face as he bumps his chair a bit closer. He reaches into the fireplace for the percolator, pouring the contents into a tin mug and blowing on it before raising it to Billy's lips. "C'mon, you need some fluid in you."

Even the act of taking a sip of coffee is too much, and Billy slides back down onto the couch with a groan. In any other situation being stuck in a remote cabin with Frank would be a dream come true, but right now Billy is giving serious thought to asking to be shot. How can his head hurt this much and still be attached? And why do his teeth feel like they’re vibrating?

Billy is a man with a secret. Well, he has quite a few, but one of them is a whopper, particularly for a guy in the military. And now here he is with the object of his affections, the rough cut jewel of the Marine Corp, with no one around for miles and miles......

Billy is also a man who can tell when opportunity knocks, and as soon as he can blink without it hurting, he’s going to see how he can turn this situation to his advantage.

“Are you hurt?” He croaks.Frank doesn’t look particularly badly off, but then Frank is also as tough as Kevlar, so appearances themselves are not always a good indicator.

"Nah, I'm fine," Frank grumbles dismissively. He stares into the fire as he slowly drinks the coffee down. He couldn't help the other 34 men of their battalion, and he can only hope they were able to make it out alright, but Frank's inner realist knows it's already too late for them.

He rolls out his sleeping bag on the floor beside the couch and lays down atop it, peeling off his overshirt as well. "Get some sleep," he murmurs, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He has a pistol strapped to his thigh, just in case. The warmth of the fireplace and the reassurance that his friend is out of the woods for now lull him into a shallow sleep, his face turned towards Billy.

Billy is in too much pain to sleep - each inward breath is difficult and he shifts uncomfortably, as if by moving he can get away from the agony, even though he knows better than to think that will work. He watches Frank’s face, peaceful in sleep, partly illuminated by the light from the fire, and lets his mind drift back through time, to one night six months ago.

.............................

The party is loud - the live band has been replaced by a DJ, and even that seems quiet against the roar of happy voices talking, laughing and singing along. Billy and Frank are at the bar, comfortably hammered, talking about, oh who knows, probably absolute garbage about the good old days; Frank has that way of making you feel like you’re the only other person in the universe, and Billy settles happily into their little bubble, listening to Frank tell whatever story he’s onto now. He nurses his beer, enjoying the opportunity to just look at the man he loves---yes, loves, he can admit that now--- and Frank picks up on the fact that his attention has drifted, asking him what’s up.

_ I’m in love with you _ , Billy says in his head.

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just listening.” He smiles. “Let’s get some shots.”

At that moment Desmond, Frank’s partner and the person that Billy would most like to shoot in the face, bounces up to the bar.

“You don’t mind if I steal him do you, Billy?” He shouts, all cheer and pouty pink lips. Billy just shakes his head and smiles because he doesn’t trust himself not to tell Desmond - Desmond? Who the fuck is called Desmond? - to fuck off. And that’s it. The light of his life walks away from the bar without so much as a backwards look, and Billy is left alone with a half finished beer and an aching heart.

Frank chuckles softly, happy to be dragged away from the loud music and the crowded bar. "Now just where are you takin' me, Little Bit?," he drawls, his Hoosier accent slipping the further into inebriation he goes.

Desmond drags the stumbling Alpha through the fire doors, which have been propped open to allow some air into the crowded venue, and around the corner. It’s suddenly quiet and cool.

“I got bored of not touching you,” he says, standing on his tiptoes for a kiss. Frank tastes of beer and sambucca, which is not as bad a combination as you’d think.

Frank hums happily against Desmond's lips, reaching a callused hand up to caress his face. This is a rare occasion indeed---Frank is actually adverse to public displays of affection, but like many other things, this sort of gets tossed out the window when he's a few bottles in. 

Frank pushes the pretty blonde against the brick wall of the adjacent building, caging his arms around his waist with a playful growl and nipping at his jawline. "I missed you, too. I don't get to hold you enough. God, you smell so good..." His hands snake upwards beneath Desmond's fuzzy sweater, his big fingers strumming over the omega's ribcage, capturing both nipples and pinching down ruthlessly.

Desmond whines faintly, arching into the touch.

“You’re gonna make me all wet out here Alpha,” he teases, grabbing Frank’s bottom to pull him closer.

Frank ruts against Desmonds spread legs, sliding a knee between them to wedge his hips in. His groans get darker, hungrier, big puffs of air ghosting along Desmond's mating gland as he breathes in his scent. "I can smell your slick," Frank groans, delving one hand down the back of Desmond's pants without warning, parting his cheeks with deadly accuracy and crooking two fingers inside of him. 

Desmond cries out loudly and then looks around in a panic, laughing against Frank’s shoulder. 

“You need to warn me before you do that,” Desmond says against Frank’s mouth, unbuttoning his fly. He turns around and presses himself against the wall, legs spread, and looks enticingly over his shoulder.

"Nah, sweetheart, not like that," Frank gruffs, spinning Desmond around and mounting him to the wall like a prize doe. He strips Desmond's pants off---and at this point it doesn't matter what the omega wants or doesn't want, this is happening right the fuck here---unlatching his fly and planting Desmond onto his already painfully hard cock. 

His thrusts are brutal and relentless. He slides two slick-soaked fingers into Desmond's mouth to muffle his cries as he feels his knot expand against Desmond's walls. 

"Taste yourself," he growls as he jack-hammers into him. "Fuck....baby.....so fucking tight...."

Desmond’s eyes roll back into his head; he knows he’s going to have bruises from this tomorrow but he doesn’t care, it’s so fucking good.

“Remember not to knot me,” he says hurriedly as he feels the alpha’s breathing change. Then, over Frank’s shoulder, he sees him - Billy Russo, standing there transfixed, staring at them. Desmond maintains eye contact with Billy as he takes Frank’s fingers back into his mouth, sucking on them sensuously.

Frank lets out a bitten-off groan at this, because that's exactly what he wants, wants to be locked inside Desmond's perfect, tight little body, but he knows Desmond is right. He gives him a few more unforgiving thrusts, ratcheting his hips like he's running on hydraulics, and pulls out as he feels his knot catch. He wraps a fist around his knot so he can keep going, and spills inside Desmond with a bitten-off roar, his dark eyes fluttering open to peer into Desmond's as he rides out the aftershocks, rolling his hips as he scrapes for air. 

At last, he slumps against the wall, giving Desmond a long, sensual kiss that borders on apologetic as he pulls off. "Holy shit," he mutters to the ground, his cheeks suddenly burning bright pink. "S-sorry 'bout that, I uh....Ain't never done anything like that before." 

He retrieves Desmond's trousers, helping him to shimmy them back on. "Are...are you alright?" He asks, all the sweet manners and tenderness returning to his voice.

“I’m perfect,” Desmond smiles, linking his arms around Frank and placing one more smoochy kiss against his lips. 

Billy melts back into the shadows before Frank can turn around and see him, feeling suddenly sober. He leaves the party and walks for a long time, until the pain turns to numbness. 

......................

  
  


Back in the present, Billy blinks away a tear at the memory and tries to sit up. That turns out to be a bad idea, and he slumps down again with a groan. Immediate healing, that would be a cool superpower. He needs a new job.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Frank wakes at the first streak of daylight coming through the dirty window. He looks on the couch at Billy who seems fast asleep, checks the stitch job on his head, letting his hand linger a little bit longer than necessary. He sweeps away a tear from Billy's cheek that has long since dried, smiling down at him. He tucks the blanket around him more securely, then gets up to strap on his boots and put on a jacket. He finds an axe leaning against the back shed, and goes to work harvesting more firewood. When he comes back inside with an armful, he lays it on the kindling rack as quietly as he's able and tip toes to the bathroom. 

It's a long shot, but he tries the lights. Little surprise when they don't work. An even longer shot is the faucet, which by some miracle produces clear running water, more than that, HOT running water. The tub faucet is working too, and an idea pops into Frank's head. 

He lets the tub fill with fresh water and sprinkles in an epsom salt packet from the med kit. He fishes out an antibiotic regimen while he's at it and places it on the counter, making a mental note to force feed those to Billy for the next few days to stave off any infection. He rummages through the cupboards and finds some food staples a year or so past their expiry date, and this has his eyebrows twitching downward in concern. Maybe this place isn't as "abandoned" as he thought. His premonition is confirmed when he tries the light over the kitchen sink and it works. Burnt bulb in the bathroom, then. Later, he's going to have to secure a parameter. 

"Get up, Princess," he murmurs, slapping Billy on the leg. "I drew you a bath. You need it."

Billy jerks awake at the sudden contact, having been deep in the kind of sleep you get after a really good cry. He doesn’t actually feel as awful as he had last night, though his head might still fall off. He watches Frank’s broad shoulders as he leaves the room to check the bath, idly wondering what those arms would feel like. You have to stop doing this to yourself, he thinks. 

Billy tries to stand up and does a mostly ok job of it until he tries to take a step. A shooting pain sears through his kneecap, which upon further inspection is also fairly busted up, sending him crashing to the floor. He groans and coughs pathetically, trying to drag himself upright again.

Suddenly massive arms surround him, holding him upright against a broad chest, dog tags jingling. "Gotcha," Frank says with a soft laugh, keeping a hand on Billy's stomach to steady him. "It's alright, babe. Take it easy. Get your bearings." With the strength of a lion and the patience of a saint, Frank waits for Billy to get enough of his senses back to support his own weight, then he half-carries him to the bathroom, where the steam rises up from the water in the bright morning light. 

"C'mon," Frank murmurs, thinking nothing of helping Billy out of his clothes. He explores Billy's body with gentle touches, inspecting every gash, circling every bruise. "Those bastards at HQ are gonna get an earful when we get out of this," he growls protectively beneath his breath. "And I'm gonna see to it that they never serve again."

Billy is suddenly struck by a memory of falling.

“You saved me,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “You dragged me out.” He lifts a hand to touch the side of Frank’s face, and for possibly the first time in his life decides to be perfectly upfront about what he’s thinking.

“We could  _ not  _ get out of this,” he says, imagining a world with no Desmond. “We could just stay here.” He hisses sharply as the water touches the grazes on his back.

Frank grins, giving Billy a chuck under the chin before dumping a buttload of shampoo on his head and scrubbing furiously. "Yeah, where the hell would you be without me, B? And what's this talk about staying here? That fall really did a number on your head if you think staying in a mossy shack in the middle of the Russian wilderness sounds good. You?," he snorts at the mere thought, "Billy "hair-gel" Russo?"

Billy laughs and then doubles up.

“Don’t make me laugh, Frank, it hurts.” He puts a hand on Frank’s forearm.

“But seriously, thanks.”

He allows himself to relax into the feeling of having his hair washed - he has imagined this scenario quite a few times but there were fewer head injuries, more bubbles and candles and they were both in the bath together.....there’s an idea.

“Get in,” Billy says once his hair is rinsed, making sure to sound suitably gruff and business like. “You stink and you need to get clean.” That last part was certainly true.

Frank scoffs, giving Billy an incredulous look. "Yeah no shit. I was out chopping wood to build a fire for your injured ass. You're welcome." He stands up, ruffling Billy's now sopping wet hair and tosses a towel at him.

“Oh gee, thanks Daddy,” Billy quips. Might as well start early with that. Billy just scoots back in the tub and gestures at the space in front of him.

“There’s no way I can stand up long enough for this so you’ll just have to deal with me being in here too.”  _ Damn I’m convincing, _ he thinks.  _ I actually sounded like this isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me. _ He hopes Frank won’t be able to feel his heart pounding through his chest, and is actually grateful for being too severely injured to get hard right now. The irony.

Frank lets out a sigh and tugs off his shirt, a sure sign that Bill has won this battle. "I s'pose. Can't have you bein' the only one smelling like a daisy now can we?" He strips unceremoniously, taking a careful glance out the window and setting his firearm on the edge of the counter, just in case. Every inch of Frank's body is like chiseled stone, the muscles and sinews taught. He pulls off his underwear and his cock hangs free, long and thick and cut, slightly darker than the rest of him.

He slides down into the tub and the water sloshes over the side, at which point Frank slides Billy a playfully accusatory look. "You gotta stop making such damn good food at mess time. You're making me fat."

“What can I say, darling, I’m a feeder,” Billy jokes back, dumping some shampoo into his palm. That part is true too - he likes to watch Frank eat, to be able to provide for him in some way at least. For a moment he imagines a domestic scene, him in the kitchen, setting the table waiting for Frank to get home.  _ Oh so now you’re the omega _ , his ever helpful brain supplies. Great. 

He’s feeling like shit to be honest, and it really is time that he was lying down again, but he pushes that aside and sets about washing Frank. The tight military fade haircut doesn’t exactly take long to wash so Billy turns it into more of a head massage, working out the knots in Frank’s neck. His cock tries to move once but doesn’t get any further than that.  _ Good on you for trying buddy,  _ he thinks.

"Mmm," Frank's head lolls back, nearly touching Billy's chest. "Fuck, that feels good." Frank lets his mind go blank for the first time in a long time. It doesn't last more than a breath's length or two, but it's re-energizing all the same. "Hey, if I help you back to the couch do you think you'll be okay here for a bit? I gotta go get us some food. There's an extra set of fatigues in my rucksack. I gotta work at getting us some civilian clothes too, but eating comes first."

“Where are you going to get food from out here?” Billy asks, starting to work on Frank’s shoulders. Homoerotic moments of tenderness aside, being back on the couch is starting to sound really good about now. 

“My time spent upright for today is running out though.” He squeezes the top of Frank’s arms and almost, almost, allows his forehead to touch Frank’s shoulder, but not quite.

"Jesus Christ, you city hipsters," Frank mumbles. "We are surrounded by 500 miles of wilderness, cupcake, where do you think I'm gonna find food? You like venison?"

“Is that going to poison us?” Billy would fain outrage at the hipster comment, but sometimes you’ve just got to know when your bullshit has been called. He lifts himself out of the tub slowly, tentatively setting his foot on the floor and gritting his teeth when he has to put weight on it. 

“Were they firing elephants? Because it feels like that’s what hit me.” He has to grab the doorframe to stay upright as his head spins.

Frank heaves a laborious sigh, as if he doesn't love every single moment of taking care of Billy. He gets out of the tub as well, throwing one of the towels he'd found in the cupboard around Billy and helping him back to the couch. He stays nearby while Billy dresses, watching intently for any signs of needing assistance, and feeling relieved when Billy slides back into the couch, safe and warm and on his way back to health. 

Frank loads the shotgun and leans it upright on the chair, then slides his pistol out of its holster, putting it directly into Billy's hands. "Listen to me carefully," Frank begins, leveling his gaze to Billy's. "There are a million reasons someone would choose to send our entire platoon on a suicide mission. This is something no one was supposed to walk away from, Billy. Including us. There could be any number of guys out there looking for us right now. And whether they're American or not, we can't trust anybody. Look at me, Billy. TRUST. NOBODY. That's an order, Sargeant." He folds Billy's fingers around the gun, squeezing Billy's neck as if to gentle him and pressing their foreheads together. "I'll be back soon," he says, emphasizing his words with a kiss just below Billy's stitch job. "Promise." 

With that, he takes up his rifle and exits the little cabin without looking back, heading off into the Russian wilderness in search of prey.

Billy stares at the wall for a moment after Frank leaves, giving his brain time to process what just happened. A slow smile crosses his face because that kiss,  _ that kiss _ that he can still feel tingling his skin, that kiss outweighs any number of bad guys that might be after them. That kiss meant it was game-fucking-on. 

He lays back against the couch, suddenly unaware of the pain because one touch of Frank’s lips is like morphine and cocaine all in one. He doesn’t sleep, not really, but lets himself just lie very still, content to observe the passing time through the window as the sun makes its way across the sky.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
  


A few hours later there is a heavy THUD of a body slumping onto the back porch, then an odd sawing sound. Moments later Frank appears in the doorway holding the skinned, de-hoofed leg of a large animal, his hands and a bit of his face stained with its blood. Something happens when he looks down at Billy, and Frank can't put a name to the feeling, all he knows is that it feels insanely good to be providing for someone, and not just any someone, but Billy  _ "Look at me crossways and I'll kick you in the face" _ Russo. 

Frank quickly looks away, feeling an odd warmth spread to his face, and asks "Did you rest up?" on the way to the kitchen sink. He deposits the leg and watches the water cascade down the bare, red flesh.

“Yeah, I feel better,” Billy says, and it’s true. Everything still hurts but he doesn’t have that about-to-pass-out feeling that you get when you are recently messed up. He gets up, still slowly but easier than before, and makes his way over to the sink, the excitement of that kiss from hours before still buzzing through him. He places a hand on Frank’s shoulder, deciding to play up to the Alpha ego. 

“You did well,” he almost purrs in Frank’s ear. “Why don’t you let me take it from here?”

Billy is a fair cook, and even with the mediocre and mostly out of date produce in the house, he can probably create something tolerable.

Frank throws another log on the fire and puts on yet another pot of coffee, and then returns to the kitchen where he sits patiently, his hands folded in front of him. He watches intently as Billy prepares dinner, and the moment Billy clutches his head Frank calls Time. "Okay yep that's enough," he says abruptly, hooking one arm around Billy's waist and leading him back to the sofa. "I can stir it," Frank says, secretly praying Billy doesn't challenge him.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says weakly, his energy from earlier on completely gone. “I think I overdid it trying to be a good omega. It should be done in another half an hour.” Dinner is a sort of cassoulet type stew with the venison and whatever they managed to find in the cans that probably wouldn’t poison them. There was some ancient paprika in the spice rack and garlic salt - either way it was food.

Frank lets the comment slide. He's not used to seeing Billy incapacitated, and it feels awkward at best that he is being so vulnerable. "This is fantastic," Frank praises. He isn't even stretching the truth. It had always amazed him what Billy could accomplish with so few ingredients. The deer was young, so the meat is tender, and Frank devours it quickly, well into his second helping when he notices Billy isn't even half way finished with his. He frowns a little, tilting his head questioningly. "What's the matter? Need more pain meds?" Frank is suddenly grateful that Desmond "overdid" it with his little gift package from home. They'd be set for another 4 months, if needed.

“No, I’m alright, I’m just...” Billy suddenly feels woozy again, the concussion coming back to haunt him.

“I’m sorry I need to lie down,” he pushes his bowl away and gets to the couch where he lies down and breathes carefully through his nose, hoping the nausea subsides.

Frank feels hopeless. Despite the things he might be able to help with, he cannot take away the pain. This is something Billy has to get through on his own. Frank collects the bowls and sets them in the sink, returning to the living room and the warm fireplace. He slides down onto his sleeping bag, and that's when the most obvious thought occurs to him. 

"Do you think, would you like to sleep in the bed? Would that be more comfortable?"

“I really don’t want to move,” is Billy’s first response, but after a moment’s consideration he nods.

“Let’s do this quickly.” He hasn’t managed to eat much in the last 18 hours and he certainly doesn’t want to lose what little stew he ate. They manage to get him into the bed, which is pretty rock hard but at least he can stretch out. The blankets smell damp and musty, but there’s something comforting and normalising about being in a bedroom. He’s breathing hard by the time he lies down; vulnerability weighs on him like a psychological ball and chain, and in that moment he feels like he’ll never feel normal again. 

He catches Frank’s wrist as he goes to leave the room.

“Stay.” It’s a simple command, without explanation or embellishment. It doesn’t need it.

Frank's weight makes the bed sink down, and Billy's battered form naturally rolls into Frank's side. Frank draws an arm around him and rubs his back up and down in medium-sized ellipses, listening for the change in breathing that comes with being a bit more comfortable.

“Everything hurts,” Billy says, his breath still ragged.

“Everything hurts until you do that.” He lets his head rest against Frank’s shoulder, enjoying the moment of perfect peace, and then when there’s no resistance to that, snuggles closer to his muscular form.

Frank slips into a deep sleep and begins to snore softly, his chin perched atop Billy's head.


	5. Chapter 5

Billy wakes up a few hours later because nature is calling. He stumbles his way to the bathroom, feeling pathetic but more alive than last night. Frank is still asleep when he gets back, which Billy decides to take as a compliment, and as he slips back into bed he allows himself to fantasise that this is their bedroom, and not some hut in the middle of the Taiga surrounded by bears and the enemy. Which now apparently included their own. Fantastic.

He snuggles back into the empty space in Frank’s arms, which wrap around him instinctively, but the Alpha doesn’t wake up, just shifts a little and gives Billy a squeeze. Billy waits for the light snoring to start up again before he presses a single kiss to Frank’s neck. When they get back, there’s no  _ if  _ in Billy’s mind, he is going to need to do something about Desmond, The Bitch Usurper. Desmond isn’t just fucking Frank, which is a big enough crime, he also knows about Billy, which makes him doubly inconvenient. Gay Alphas famously don’t get on well in the military - you are supposed to stand by your brothers, not bend over for them, and if someone gets outed it can get ugly. Billy has seen it before.

  
  


............Five months previous, after the party...............

  
  


Billy, Frank and Desmond - of course fucking Desmond - are on the sofa at Frank’s place. Well, they are there physically; Frank, be he the best at what he does and the baddest man in town, cannot drink for shit. He is currently passed out, face down in Desmond’s lap. Desmond doesn’t seem perturbed by this when Billy reappears from the kitchen with three more beers.

“I see we don’t need the third one,” he says, handing a bottle to Desmond. 

“No, he’s left us for the night,” Desmond smiles. He can’t wait to tease Frank in the morning - the Alpha will be grumpy and slightly needy, not that he’d ever admit it, which is just how Desmond likes him. Billy just nods, because the conversation just got more awkward without the gruff buffer that Frank provides.

“Let me help you get him upstairs,” he says, thinking it was high time he was out the door.

“We’ll do fine thank you,” Desmond says with an air of finality and the clear intent to say something else. “I’ll show you out in a moment but, before I do, tell me Billy Russo - how long have you had eyes for my man? I saw you watching us. And I see the way you look at him. You’re playing a dangerous game, Billy. One that you won’t win, by the way. He’s mine - and next heat he’s going to put a baby in me. I’m just curious as to how long it’s been.”

Desmond has a harder edge when he’s not playing the simpering military wife, and he definitely considers himself to be the cat that got the cream. 

_ Since the moment I first saw him, you smug little shit _ , Billy thinks.

“Are you going to tell anyone?” He says in return. He doesn’t owe Desmond anything and has no intention of giving away any unnecessary information.

“Behave, and I won’t have to. You need to spend a lot less time with Frank, Billy. Starting now.”

“We’ll see about that,” Billy smiles back. He isn’t rattled. Desmond could scream ‘Billy Russo is gay’ from the rooftops - there isn’t anything to back that up and he’s known as a red blooded Alpha about town. He should know - he pays the omega sex workers well to tell everyone about it. Desmond would look paranoid at best. 

“Get the fuck out, faggot,” Desmond says in return.

“With pleasure.” Billy throws a mock salute and sees himself out.

  
  


...............................

  
  
  


Back in the present Billy opens his eyes when Frank shifts, muttering something.

“Are you ok?” He asks, but the Alpha doesn’t respond, still fast asleep. Those beautiful, strong arms wrap tighter around Billy, and then Frank murmurs something else that makes Billy’s heart soar, and banishes all thoughts of Desmond from his mind.

“Billy.”


	6. Chapter 6

Frank has to dig his way out of a heavy sleep, the reminder of the very imminent danger surrounding them gnawing at his hindbrain. He forces himself to come-to, and it feels like weights have been sewn to his eyelids. He attempts to roll out of the ramshackle bed, surprised to find a pair of lanky, strong arms wrapped around him like a seatbelt, snapping him back into place. "The hell-?,” He murmurs, suddenly wide awake, glaring at the sleeping alpha behind him as if that'd do any good. "Billy," he grumbles, "I gotta get up, man." 

The body pressed tightly to his only secures its hold, Billy's cheek pressed to the middle of Frank's back. 

"Oh for Christ's sake," Frank grumbles. He tries once again to roll away, and one of Billy's arms cages around him tightly, his other hand slipping freely down Frank's ribs. 

Frank jolts, trying to pull away without hurting him but he cannot help the ridiculously high-pitched laughter that peels from his chest. "Billy you fucking asshole, that tickles!"

Billy startles awake, peering up at Frank, feeling dazed and confused. For one glorious moment he isn’t aware of any pain, but that soon kicks back in and he rolls onto his back with a groan. 

“You’re awfully lively this morning,” He grumbles, only one eye open. He holds out one arm, a vague invitation for Frank to come back to bed that could easily be brushed off as him just stretching out. Frank is ticklish..... _ interesting _ .

Frank rolls in Billy's arms, sliding back into them effortlessly. After all, so long as he's awake, he doesn't have to worry about the US Military getting the jump on them. Besides, it is practically freezing outside of the bed. 

He nestles back in with a happy grumble, reaching up to inspect the head-wound. "Looks good," he mutters to himself. "We'll get you some more pain meds, then I have to get going. I'm gonna scout us some softer blankets and some civvies, get you out of those fatigues. Maybe I'll get lucky and find more canned food in some of the other cabins around here."

Billy pulls him close, and still being half asleep, presses a soft kiss to Frank’s forehead before he even registers what he’s doing. 

“I don’t know where you’re going to find any of that out here,” he says as a distraction. “But if anyone can do it it’s you. Do you need me to do anything round here while you’re gone? I don’t know about chopping wood but I can try and do something with whatever is left of the deer.”

"Billy Russo getting his hands dirty," Frank murmurs to no one in particular, sweeping his thumb across Billy's cheek. "Now that I'd like to see." After a pause, Frank slides out of bed and into his combat boots. It'd be nice to wear something other than scratchy polyester for once, he thinks casually, lacing them up. Suddenly an afterthought occurs to him and he turns to the boy on the bed, putting both hands around his waist like he's sizing up a watermelon. Billy squirms a little, but doesn't complain, most likely guessing what Frank is after. Frank memorizes the way Billy's waist fits in his hands, and then

Frank's cock twitches to life. 

Frank pulls off of Billy sharply, springing out of the bed like it's on fire. He runs a hand through the tight curls atop his head, his cheeks burning red-hot.  _ What the fuck, Frank,  _ he chastises himself. "Right then," Frank murmurs, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but in Billy's eyes. He plucks the empty rucksack from the floor and tosses it over his shoulder. 

"Same rules as yesterday," he calls back, marching outside the small cabin, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

He must really miss Desmond.

“I only wear cotton blend,” Billy calls after him. He stays in bed for a bit, assessing his physical situation.

Headache - diabolical

Arms and legs - better, not tingly anymore, mostly mobile

Ribs - bruised but not broken, much less fucked than yesterday

He sits up slowly and is pleased when the world doesn’t spin, considering this brand new information. Frank is more than happy to snuggle, Frank does not object to forehead kisses, and Frank will blush delightfully when embarrassed. After a moment more of pondering, he gets out of bed. He needs to make sure he has dinner and a hot bath ready for his Alpha when he gets home. It wouldn’t hurt to clean up the cabin a bit either, it’s dustier than a crypt.

**************

Frank makes quick work of procuring provisions for the cabin. He likens it to an easter egg hunt. There is another smallish cabin two miles east, newer and in considerably fairer shape. As luck would have it, no one is home. Frank inwardly apologizes as he rifles through the cupboards, grabbing some extra sheets and towels, and rifling through the dry and canned goods. He finds a pair of men's sweatpants, probably a little too big for Billy but definitely too small for Frank. Princess is just going to have to learn to deal with what he's given, Frank thinks as he stuffs it in his pack. 

He rolls up a warm looking blanket and ties it to the top of his bag. Then sets off for the next cabin.

It's late afternoon when he arrives back home with his treasures, and he barely recognizes the place. The smell of a lemon kind of cleaner fills the air. Light streams in through the clear windows, bouncing off the freshly polished furniture. 

He makes his way into the kitchen, trailing the smell of something absolutely divine. "You should be resting," he gently chastises, heaving his loaded pack onto the table. 

He takes his time laying everything out for Billy to see, swelling with pride at how well he made out. "I found some jeans and sweatpants about your size," he explains. "And some more soap and toothpaste. Also, some canned food. Beets, tomatoes, some kind of steak sauce I think, I can't read Russian. Oh! and here..." Frank pulls out a pair of navy blue men's silk pajamas. "I figured this might be kinda nice, you know, as you recover." 

Frank has absolutely no idea why, but the heat is rising to his face again, and he looks away, rubbing his neck. "It looks incredible in here," he murmurs, changing the subject. "I had no idea you had such a domestic side."

“There are a few things you don’t know about me yet, Frankie,” Billy smiles. Cleaning up the cottage made him feel better, but he’s tired now. 

“Thanks for the jammies,” he picks up the bottle of maybe steak sauce and gives it a sniff. 

“I cut steaks off the deer, so this is perfect. Let me put the bath on for you and then I’ll start cooking. Did you see anyone out there?"

Frank shakes his head. "Not yet. They probably just discovered we're missing. I'm going to build a parameter for us after dinner. Then once we know everything is secure,...." he lets that last word linger in the air a bit, a mischievous grin playing across his lips as he pulls out several long-necked bottles and presents them, one by one in front of Billy. "...maybe we can have some fun?" 


	7. Chapter 7

There are a couple of particularly nasty tricks handed down from stories of vets who encountered the brutal guerilla tactics of the Viet-Cong. Leg traps and false floors and the like, all aimed at incapacitating the encroaching enemy. It's dark when Frank finishes, but in the end he is very pleased with the fortress he's created out of little more than sticks, rope and holes in the ground. In the morning, he and Billy will listen to the Comm and see where Base is in their search, and maybe try to get out an S.O.S, unless of course Telecomm is compromised. He'll think about all that tomorrow, he decides as he heads back into the cabin, taking another arm-load of wood with him. Now that he has insured their safety for the time being, Billy's comfort is foremost in his mind. 

He builds a roaring fire in the hearth, splaying out the bottles on top of the heavy down comforter he's put on the floor. Being not much of a drinker himself, he has no clue what he's looking at. He plucks up a rectangular bottle that has some kind of dark brownish red liquid inside, pops the cork and sniffs it. His nose crinkles immediately, and he hands it off to Billy. "Whatdy'a suppose this one is? Some kind of bourbon?"

“I’d stick to the clear ones, those are reliably vodka. We might go blind mind you but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Billy is on much better form - drinking probably isn’t that sensible, but they aren’t in this situation because they are sensible so....vodka it is. He procures a couple of glasses and they sit down.

“No reason not to keep it classy,” he says, handing a glass to Frank. The first mouthful burns like acid.

“My god that is awful,” he coughs.

"Fuckin' Russians," Frank agrees with a nod. The booze tastes like paint thinner but after the first few swigs, the numbing sensation makes it all worth it. He leans back against the couch from his place on the floor, and it almost feels like being home. "I forgot what regular clothes felt like, you know?"

Billy is already resplendent in his blue silk pyjamas. 

“You want to feel these,” he says. “Once I get back I’m wearing nothing but silk to bed.” Billy has a taste for luxury, always has. 

“So how about a drinking game?”

Frank raises an eyebrow, running a hand over his three-day old stubble in thought before leaning over to fill his glass again. "What'dya have in mind? You know I'm a shit drunkard. You're definitely going to win."

“You really are,” Billy smiles at him fondly. “I remember you passing out in Desmond’s lap.....” he trails off, feeling like an idiot. 

“Anyway, I could play truth without the dare, seeing as I can only just about stand up for half an hour at a time, or......we could play I Have Never, do you know that one?"

"That the one where you finish with something you've never done?," Frank says, intrigued. "Yeah let's try that. I'll go first. Never have I ever wore a pair of silk pajamas," he teases, flicking Billy's thigh.

Billy just shakes his head and fixes Frank with a sassy look, taking a drink.

“This gets better the more you drink,” he says, staring into his glass. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

“I have never......I could be a real little shit here......I. Have. Never......kissed Billy Russo when I thought he was asleep.”

Frank's face lights up bright red, and he huffs out a ragged chuckle. "Fuck you," he says softly, grinning widely as he takes a deep swig. As Billy points at him, making that "Aaaahhhh" sound like you do when someone is proverbially busted, Frank scrambles to cover his tracks, his face so hot it might pop any moment, blaring loudly "It wasn't a kiss! I'll have you know it was just...I was checking your bandage. And I slipped. So...yeah. So there."

“It was a kiss Frankie,” Billy laughs, then goes quiet, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. 

“It was great.” He adds simply. “Your turn.”

Frank swallows sharply, searching for the meaning behind Billy's words and coming up empty. He decides to let it rest, cutting the awkward silence with a tsk and a sigh as he searches the ceiling for a reply. 

"Never have I ever..... paid for sex," he quips, his eyes sparkling mischeviously.

Billy is in the mood to set the world on fire a little bit. Billy has paid a lot of hookers in his time, but only ever to TALK about the sex they’ve had with him. He’s never actually had it. So he just holds his glass, staring back at Frank with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh dear,” he drawls with a smirk. “No points. My turn - Never have I ever lied to my omega about being on duty so that I could stay at base with Billy.”

"Woah, woah, woah---hold up," Frank says, physically holding a hand out in front of himself to halt the conversation. "I'm calling bullshit on that right now. You have a fucking  _ harem _ , Billy Russo. What, you expect me to believe you pay those hookers to play cards with you? You send them away wobbling--I've seen it. Drink up, you filthy dog."

Billy shakes his head with a sad smile. 

“I’m not lying, Frank. What you think you see with those hookers is the lie. I don’t touch them. That’s probably why they like me so much.” He just sits and looks at the other man, waiting to see if the penny drops or not.

Frank squints a little, letting the silence pass between them before the lightbulb flicks on over his head. "Ohhhh," he murmurs, nodding slowly. He reaches out to pat Billy's shoulder and gives him a brotherly, reassuring smile. "I hear ya, man. You don't have to keep shit like that a secret. Not from me." Frank takes a leisurely sip and twists the cap on another clear bottle, sniffing it absentmindedly before pouring it into his glass. "It gets lonely out here in the field. Sometimes I miss the company of Omegas too, just their presence alone is enough to soothe a weary soul. Sometimes when Desmond's sleeping in my arms I'll just bury my nose in his neck and take deep breaths, you know? It's not always about knotting 'em." 

He perks up suddenly as he considers the answer to Billy's challenge, thumbing through the rolodex of his memories and determining he is clear on that one. "Nnnnope," he says, "I can't say as I have ever once lied to Desi about anything. But I plan on getting hammered tonight, so--" He takes a few steady gulps of the burning liquid and coughs, raising his half-empty glass in a salute and nearly losing his balance.

“Yeah maybe this game isn’t for us,” Billy laughs softly, filling up his own glass again.

“Man you’re hammered already. How can you be built like that, tougher than Iron Man but you can’t drink vodka?”

"Come on, you're not done already are'ya?" Frank whines, grabbing Billy around the shoulders, burying his head into his silky pajama top. "You smell good," he humms. "I don't think I'd like wearing satin but I sure like touching it. This looks really good on you. Blue is your color. So is red. And black. Maybe every color is your color. Why're you squirming?" Frank nuzzles into the crook of Billy's arm, leaning on to him so hard he pushes him over onto the blanket. It's a good thing they're laying down, Frank thinks as the room starts to spin.

Billy lets his arms go around Frank, his glass spilling onto the floor, forgotten. He holds the Alpha close, breathing in his scent, nuzzling his cheek.

“You know, considering the state that you’re in this definitely counts as me taking advantage, but, fuck it.” He says before he brings their lips together. It’s soft, and tender and so perfect; it may be the vodka making his world spin, but he doubts it.

Frank rolls atop Billy, easily trapping him with his weight as he deepens the kiss, his wide lips capturing Billy's bottom lip and worrying at it hungrily. He brings a hand to Billy's neck, his thumb pressing into the artery to tilt his head back. Frank lets out a dark groan, already painfully hard as he rolls his hips forward, dry-fucking Billy into the floor. "So soft," he moans, lathing his tongue along the skinny Alpha's clavicle. "I wonder if you feel this way everywhere."

“Fucking hell Frankie keep doing that,” Billy gasps. He gets his hands down the back of Frank’s pants and squeezes his firm bottom, lifting up his leg so that Frank can rub against it. Billy is still too injured to have any hope of properly getting off, but getting the chance to make Frank come is like winning the lottery. He pulls him into another kiss, this one harsher and more desperate, full of years of unspoken need and want.

Frank's breathing goes ragged and he slips a hand around, supporting the back of Billy's head while he’s still lucid. He paws at Billy's trapped cock with the other hand, thumbing his pulsing knot and running circles around in the wet spot in Billy's silky pajama bottoms. "Are you a virgin, sweetheart?," he whispers against Billy's lips.

“No,” Billy breathes back. “It’s different to what you’re thinking though.” He’s never had sex with an omega, and wouldn’t want to - he’s always been an Alpha’s boy, through and through. He pulls Frank’s pants down and is fucking delighted by what he sees.

“I knew you’d be big,” he smiles, dipping his thumb into the slit before wrapping his hand around Frank’s cock, stroking it slowly and firmly. “Jesus Christ you’re fucking perfect.”

Frank was just about to ask what Billy means by that when Billy grabs his knot and suddenly his brain flatlines. He cries out into Billy's neck, his Alpha nature taking over as he thrusts into his hand. "What do you want, Billy?," he moans, his chocolate brown eyes looking questioningly into Billy's as he rocks into him, peppering his neck with kisses.

“I want to watch you come,” Billy gasps back, gripping the knot tighter and squeezing. He wants to tell Frank how much he loves him, he wants to say all of it, but he doesn’t. 

“What do you want? We can do anything.”

"We can't though, baby." Frank stops suddenly, breathing hard, staring down at him. "You’re injured... and...and we're both.... I mean, you know…" 

“That’s ok, come on,” Billy kisses him again, starting with his lips and moving to his jaw and neck. “Let me make you feel good.” He pushes Frank down onto his back and starts stroking him again, moving down to lap at his balls. He gets both hands around the knot and starts massaging it, taking Frank’s huge cock into his mouth. His eyes roll back and he groans as the head touches the back of his throat, the vibrations making Frank squirm.

"Billy, Bill--oh god," Frank rasps, his throat suddenly going bone-dry. He chokes down a sob, reaching a hand into Billy's hair to keep his head still as he thrusts upwards into his mouth. He comes with a roar, his hips flying off the floor as he spills down Billy's throat, his knot inflating to a gargantuan size that pulls Billy's grasp apart. Billy keeps the pressure on, regaining ground and tearing yet another orgasm from the larger Alpha, who convulses beneath him helplessly, riding out the aftershocks. "Billy --- fuck..." With a final groan, Frank collapses, smoothing the long strands of soft black hair from Billy's eyes. He cups his chin, leaning in for a lingering, passionate kiss.

"So, wait," he murmurs, the last dead light bulb flickering to life. "You're gay?"

Billy laughs loudly, wiping his mouth. 

“You got there eventually, well done,” he chuckles. Frank looks absolutely fucked, and Billy wishes he could take a photo. He’d have it framed and hung somewhere, if he could. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, stroking his face. “Are you ok?”

Frank's only reply is a rumbling, happy hum as he tucks Billy back into his arms. The fire has died to a soft red glow, bathing them both in its warmth. Frank smacks his lips sleepily, nuzzling into the crook of Billy's neck. In the quiet of the darkness, Frank murmurs "Love you...Desi...." and fades off to sleep with a soft snore.

Billy hears a ringing in his ears, as if someone just fired a gun right next to him. His stomach drops and he goes completely cold - the arms around him suddenly feel suffocating, and he scrambles away from the sleeping Alpha, who doesn’t wake up, probably thanks to his blood alcohol level. For a moment Billy thinks that he might vomit and goes outside, holding onto the porch railing and breathing hard until he has himself under control. Once he starts to shiver he goes back inside and sits on the bed, staring at the wall where he stays until the sun comes up, with only his growing hangover, and the silence of a beautiful moment destroyed, for company.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Frank wakes up feeling exactly like a ton of bricks. He flops over a few times, holding his head until he is sure that it only  _ feels  _ like it's going to fall off. He forces his body upright with a groan and half-crawls to the fireplace to throw another log in, kicking bottles out of the way as he goes. With that done, he uses the mantle to rise to his feet, shielding his eyes from the blaring light that seems to be coming from all around him. He puts the percolateur on the stove this time, heaving in an extra scoop of coffee for good measure, and staggers to the bathroom while it brews. Splashing ice cold water on his face helps numb his throbbing head, and he inspects his stubble in the mirror, knowing better than to put it off any longer. 

He braces himself with one hand on the sink as he lathers and shaves, touching up the sides of his fade cut while he's at it. A slender figure shuffles past from the bedroom and Frank huffs raggedly, a warm smile playing across his mouth. "Mornin' sunshine. What time did you end up crashing?"

“I didn’t,” Billy says flatly. He shuffles around the kitchen listlessly, trying to ignore the stab of pain that seeing Frank sends through his gut. It had been a very very long night. He thinks about making some food but doesn’t think he could stomach anything - he also thinks about making food for Frank and then thinks that the Alpha can go and fuck himself.

“I’m going to go for a walk. It’s been a few days since I got out,” he says, going to retrieve his boots from the bedroom.

"Nah-uh," Frank says, suddenly snapping-to. He veers around the corner to steal Billy's boots, pulling them away as quickly as he can, considering his throbbing head. He holds them away. "You do realize there's easily fifty or so guys out there lookin' for us because we're supposed to be dead, right? You ain't going anywhere. Your only job is to stay inside, stay down, and heal up as fast as you can because we're going to have to be ready to bug out in a few days if it comes down to it."

“Fine. I’ll be in the bedroom then.” Billy says. He goes back inside, and makes a point of shutting the door. He lies on the bed and squeezes his eyes tight - _ Billy Russo _ , he thinks,  _ you will not cry _ . He repeats that until the heat of emotion gives way to icy calm.

"That's yes  _ Sir _ ," Frank barks. He shakes his head, grateful that at least Billy didn't challenge the order. He drops the boots, then roots around in his bag for the radio. He turns on the comm link, listening intently as he scans through the radio waves for any mention of himself or Billy, or the fate of their platoon. He listens in four minute intervals, shutting the radio off in between in case anyone's trying to trace the signal. When Frank joined Special Forces he did so knowing it wasn't just a dangerous job, it was the kind of job that most people with half a conscience would shy away from.

Frank doesn’t have that problem. So long as it was for justice and freedom and all that shit they teach you about in Boot Camp, there wasn't anything Frank wasn't willing to do. It was only a matter of time before someone would figure they knew too much, turns out it was their own Company that came to that conclusion first. Frank wishes he could say he saw it coming. His father had always said "you can only betray the willing" and damned if that piece of shit wasn't right on the money. 

After a few hours of useless weather reports and some dude listing off coordinates in Russian, Frank slams the radio off with a sigh and rubs his thick head of curls, then goes to make breakfast. 

He prepares a simple meal mostly from MREs: scrambled eggs from the powder packs, dehydrated sausage links that aren't actually too bad after they've been soaked in water, and biscuits from a boxed mix he found while out foraging the day before. He fixes a little tray and gives it an approving nod before carrying it, complete with a piping cup of hot coffee (two creams, no sugars, just the way Billy likes it) to the bedroom. He frowns a little at finding the door closed, but doesn't let it stop him. He knocks softly, deciding to toss out a joke to lighten the mood. "Barracks Inspection," he calls. "Sgt. Russo, you decent?"

“As decent as I’ve ever been,” Billy replied dryly. His heart skips when Frank enters the room, and he wryly considers that it would be better if he could cut the damn thing out. He looks unenthusiastically at the tray.

“You’ve been busy. How are you feeling?” Billy feels bad enough to volunteer for death by firing squad, his injuries plus the hangover, plus no sleep, making his existence particularly uncomfortable.

Frank flinches a bit at this, thinking the question odd considering he's not the one who got his head cracked off by a sniper a few days prior. "Oh, the hangover?," he wonders aloud. "Yeah, I'm... I mean it sucks but I'll live. How about you?" He slides down onto the edge of the bed, placing the tray in Billy's lap without ceremony, and tilts his head curiously at him, searching Billy's eyes (for what, he's not quite sure). "Hey," he murmurs, placing a hand on Billy's knee. "What is it, Bill? Somethin' going on? It the stitches? I didn't sew 'em too tight I hope?"

Billy looks at him coolly for a moment, then moves the tray and sits up straighter.

“The stitches are fine, you know they are. You don’t remember, do you?” He asks quietly.

Frank's eyes widen a bit, and he swallows hard, suddenly finding his throat dry. "...I mean, I know I drank myself stupid last night. But...." He searches the middle distance for the answers to Drunk Frank's Stupid Actions, and comes up empty. He shrugs. "Why did I...Did I say something? Make an ass of myself?" Here, he lets out a dry chuckle and shifts uncomfortably.

Billy thinks about telling him, but he doesn’t have the heart to open that wound again. Frank had been drunk, ultimately he had chosen Desmond, and Billy was a love struck idiot who would probably die alone, but that is just how life goes sometimes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Billy shakes his head with a half smile. It isn’t convincing, but it’s all that he’s got. He picks up the tray, mainly as a distraction from the awkwardness in the room.

“Thanks for the breakfast,” he says with an air of finality.

"Sure," Frank murmurs, sliding away. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, that will keep him there in this room with Billy, but closes it again when nothing comes to mind. He pads off into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Billy counts down from five before he throws the breakfast tray at the wall. He regrets it immediately; the action, and the noise and the mess are all singularly dissatisfying, and now he doesn’t even have any breakfast. He starts to pick everything up and realises that he needs to either talk to Frank or just let this go.

"Fucking Christ, Billy," Frank barges in, half expecting to find his second in command splayed out on the floor in some kind of spasmodic episode. He heaves a huge sigh of relief when he sees the mess and bends down to help him scrape everything up. "The fuck is wrong with you, huh? I can't fucking leave you for two seconds but what you're trashing the place."

Billy steps back until there’s nowhere else to go, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor with his head in his hands. He had promised himself that he wasn’t going to cry, but there’s no going back now - regret, rejection, anger, loneliness and self loathing rush together in a tidal wave of emotion, drawing out gut wrenching sobs that leave him feeling almost winded.

Frank blinks. Then blinks again. He slowly crawls along the floor, swallowing the distance between them, until he is close enough to reach a hand out and sweep the glossy black strands from his eyes. "Hey,..." He chews on the inside of his lip for a moment, then bends a little closer, straining to make eye contact. "Billy, come on. You're okay. C'mon now, brother." Frank pulls him to his chest, perching his chin on top of Billy's head and humming softly as he leans on the wall. His big, strong arms go around to fully support him.

Billy lets himself be held, and holds on tightly in return, sobbing his heart out against Frank’s shoulder. Eventually he manages to calm himself down, slowing down his breathing and wiping his face. He doesn’t make eye contact with Frank when he sits up, just presses a single kiss against his muscular arm. It feels like a farewell; and he supposes it is one, of sorts.

“I’m sorry about that,” is all he says as he starts to clear up the mess from the tray.

"S'aright," Frank mutters. He places one big hand over Billy's, effectively halting his cleaning job. "You go back to bed, okay? You can have my breakfast." Billy tries protesting but Frank won't have any of it, practically pushing him back into bed and throwing the covers over him. He goes back to the kitchen where his breakfast waits. He returns shortly, apologizing for how cold it is, and this time he thinks a little better of where he places the tray, choosing the table this time instead. He leaves without fanfare, not stopping on his way to the woodpile. Fuck breakfast. He needs to blow off some steam.

Billy eats a bit, but he’s not really interested. He puts on some of the clothes Frank brought back for him, and his boots, and goes over to where the alpha is chopping wood. He can see that Frank is pretty keyed up; he’s going at the wood like it pissed him off personally, swinging the axe with all his strength. 

Billy sits down and doesn’t wait to be acknowledged before he starts speaking.

“Last night something happened. Something that I’ve wanted for a long time. I know that you don’t remember, and if you don’t want me to tell you then that’s fine. I just wanted you to know why I was upset. It’s not your fault and I’m not angry, well, not any more, and not with you. But when we get back I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see you, Frank. Not for a while anyway.”

Frank stops swinging, embedding the axe into a hollowed out stump and wiping his face with a discarded t-shirt. He stares out at the distance for the longest time before huffing out a laugh, putting one hand on his hip as he side-eyes him. "Jesus Christ, Billy, the way you act it sounds like I fucked your mother." He waves an arm in surrender, and it slaps his leg when he lets it fall. "Well? C'mon boy, I don't have all fucking day."

“We got drunk, as you know. And then we played a drinking game. You got hammered really, really fast,” he says with a laugh, beginning to be anxious about saying this next bit. Frank does have an axe in his hand after all. 

“You pulled me down onto the blanket and I kissed you. We fooled around, I blew you, you came like a cannon and then you passed out, but not before calling me Desmond. Isn’t that lovely? I’m in love with you, Frank. I have been since day one. So there,” he raises both arms in a ‘ _ what can you do _ ?’ motion. “Now you know.”

There are three sounds in the immediate vicinity that fill the air next, the first of which is silence. Yes, silence has a sound, and as anyone who has ever pissed off Frank Castle can tell you, it is absolutely deafening. The next is a long, deep intake of air as powerful as the waves of the Atlantic. And the third, and perhaps most jarring, is a burst of laughter that starts in the very pit of Frank's belly. Frank practically doubles over, clutching his side with the hand not still holding the axe, "You're shittin' me! YOU? I love with--?" He breaks out into another round of laughter that is so loud it scares the birds from the tree tops, and if anyone trying to hunt them down is within a 5 mile radius, then they are totally fucked. When at last, Frank's laughter subsides into soft hiccups and he swipes a tear from his eye and heaves a heavy sigh and dismisses Billy with a wave. "Go back inside. You're still drunk."

Billy couldn’t take Frank in a fair fight. It’s not an issue for him, he’s fine with it - Frank is stronger, quicker and an all round better fighter than Billy, who is a featherweight at best. However the element of surprise counts for a lot. While he was laughing, Frank had let go of the axe. He’s still laughing a bit when Billy steps forward and picks it up, and he doesn’t see it coming when Billy brings the handle down sharply on the back of his head. 

“I guess we’re doing this my way,” Billy says to the prone body on the ground.

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Billy slightly regrets his decision when it comes to dragging Frank, who weighs a metric fucktonne, back into the cabin, but he manages it. He has zip ties in his bag, and he knows he needs to secure Frank to something before he wakes up and murders Billy to death. 

A few minutes and a lot of cursing later, Billy has Frank naked and tied to a chair. He builds a fire - can’t let your Alpha get cold - and sits down on the couch to wait, sipping some of the godawful vodka for good measure.

Frank thinks they've been captured. He knows he is naked---typical scare tactic, being that torture is 99% mental. The fire is a nice touch--the hot pokers make a menacing display. The thing he can't figure is why would the assholes want to torture them? Why not just kill them? And how did they manage to get past the perimeter? 

"Billy," he moans, lifting his head to look around the room. If the captors are smart, they will have placed them together in the same room and record the conversation. Wait.... this is the cabin. Their cabin. And Billy....

Frank catches the lean, dark haired figure to his left and lets out a tired groan. "Billy, what the hell."

“Hey Frankie,” Billy says lightly. “You took a decent while to wake up, I was starting to worry.” He gets up and goes to stand behind the chair, placing his hands on Frank’s shoulders and massaging lightly before bending down to kiss him on the cheek.

“Our conversation outside didn’t go so well, did it? I thought maybe we have it again. My way.” He gets another chair and places it in front of Frank, bringing his glass of vodka with him.

“Are you seriously going to put a baby in Desmond? Desmond?” He takes a sip of vodka and makes a face.

“Oh do you want some of this by the way?”

Frank had tried his best to toss his head away at the kiss. It had felt so different when he kissed Billy's forehead. This one felt cold, cruel, with a dark intent behind it. Frank shakes his head, still in a state of complete bewilderment. His Billy couldn't do something like this. His Billy is incapable of cruelty. His Billy, his sweet brother, his friend...

"Help me understand somethin'," Frank drawls, flicking his tongue across dry lips. "You're upset because of Desmond? And no, to both the vodka and the baby, but thanks."

“He thinks you’re having a baby,” Billy smiles broadly. “And yeah I’m upset about Desmond. I’m upset specifically about you calling me Desmond right after mind blowing sex, but it’s all good, because we’re going to make it right. It’s just you and me now, Frankie. How it was always meant to be.” 

Billy stands up and starts to get undressed himself, folding his clothes up as he goes.

“I still remember you walking into the mess hall on the first day. I looked at you and thought, there he is. There’s the one for me. And then you say down next to me - how was that for luck? One look into those dark brown eyes and I was fucked for life. And then last night......just for a moment I thought I could have something nice. And then fucking Desmond.....anyway. I’ve decided that I  _ am  _ going to have something nice. And so are you.”

He stands behind Frank again, running his hands over the back of his head and down his neck, stroking the top of his arms. 

“I’m going to make love to you. We’ll see if you still want to talk about Desmond then.” He kisses the side of Frank’s neck, moving up to his jaw, gently teasing an earlobe.

Frank snarls, tearing away from the chair with so much force it lets out a horrid metallic whine.  _ Smart boy _ , Frank thinks, proud of Billy despite himself: had it been wood the chair would have been in splinters by now. He thrashes wildly, jerking away from Billy's touch. Despite the violence in his movements, his voice remains calm, even bordering on compassionate. "Billy, sweetheart," he begins--and for all Frank knows that's the first time he's ever called him that-- "Let's talk about this, huh? I'm....I'm sorry I laughed. I wasn't laughin' at you, babe. I swear. Y-you know how you joke around sometimes, right? That's what I thought it was. If I did something to you, Honey, I am so so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. If I touched you, or did what you said....I had no right. No right at all. But you don't have to do this." For the first time since he can remember, he feels hot tears brimming his eyes, threatening to spill over. He shakes his head as Billy prowls around to face him, his voice a mere whisper as he murmurs, "Please ...d-don't do this."

“And you know I could take that.” Billy steps back, pointing a finger at him. “I could take that if it wasn’t for how you were. It wasn’t just the drink - and I’m as up for a cheap fuck as anyone else, that I can understand - but you were in it, Frank. You were really there with me. I wish I could make you remember. The noises you made. The way you clutched at me. We were right here,” he gestures at the floor. “On the quilt. I’m surprised you didn’t smell it when you woke up, to be honest.”

He steps closer again, making a little shushing noise when Frank struggles. He touches Frank’s chest, toying idly with a nipple for a moment while he looks into the Alpha’s eyes. Then his fingers trace lower, over his firm stomach, to the base of his cock, still soft against his thigh. 

“I know how big you get,” Billy says appreciatively. “I can’t wait to feel that inside me.”

Frank looks away even as his cock twitches.  _ Oh don't you even fucking dare _ , Frank warns it. This would not be the first time Frank's knot has had a mind of its own, but certainly not in this capacity, with another Alpha. Maybe the notion of wanting to get big but not being allowed to piques its interest, because _ of-fucking-course _ it would, and Frank can feel himself nudging upward into Billy's hand, a thick stream of fluid drooling across his palm. He means to growl and it comes out as a mere whimper, and he slams his eyes shut knowing there is no recovering from that embarrassment. 

"Don't touch me," Frank tries again, jerking Billy's hand away with his knee.

Billy shushes him again and starts to work Frank’s cock a bit more purposefully until it’s at full mast.

“We did this last night. You weren’t sure how it would work with us both being Alphas, but you liked this. You liked it when I went down on you as well. I have something a bit more special planned for today though. Please don’t take this personally.” He goes over to his bag and gets a bottle of oil and another zip tie. This one he puts around Frank’s neck, looping it around the back of the chair. 

“I’m sorry about that my darling, but I can’t have you headbutting me while I’m trying to get us off.” He opens the bottle of oil and starts prepping himself, moaning a little at the intrusion. He usually tops, apart from the odd occasion, but he’ll make an exception for Frank. Once he’s done he walks back to the chair and sits on Frank’s lap, glad to see that his cock is still very much enjoying itself.

“Are you ready?” He says as he lines Frank up and starts to sink down. 

“Oh my god.”

Frank would throw his head back if he could, so he lets his eyes roll back instead, biting down so hard on his tongue it leaks blood. Billy is tight--impossibly so, his entrance puckered and hot, virtually no different from an omega's. But it is different, because it is Billy, and apparently his body knows something Frank doesn't; his knot fills out nearly completely, opening Billy's walls and blowing past his prostate so hard it almost hurts. 

Frank's mouth drops open in spite of himself, a helpless moan caught in his throat. He presses his cheek against Billy's as a tear slides down, catching his mouth in a kiss that is more teeth than lips, sharing the coppery taste of blood between them.

Billy moans hard into the kiss as he takes Frank’s knot. He tries to speed up but it’s difficult in the chair.

“You know if you had been reasonable, we could be doing this in bed,” he says, reaching between them to play with Frank’s balls.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous....ah...oh my god yes.”

"Why didn't you just fucking say something sooner," Frank growls, straining hard against the chair but this time upwards towards Billy, desperately rutting against him, kissing him passionately. "Untie me," He rasps against Billy's ear. "That's an order, Sergeant."

“Fuck your orders Lieutenant,” Billy groans out before he comes all over both of them.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just didn’t want you to kill me before I came.” He keeps riding Franks cock, even though he’s really sensitive by this point - the only time he stops is to take a small knife from his bag which he uses to snip the cable ties.

The first thing Frank does is haul back and send his fist straight through Billy's face, instantly pulling his knot out and laying him flat on the floor. "That's for tying me up," he growls, hauling Billy up by the throat and slamming him against the nearest wall. "This is for disobeying a direct order." Billy is momentarily airborne, his feet flying over his head as Frank sweeps him up bridal-style and carries him off to the bedroom. 

Once there, he makes sure he hurls Billy as fast and as hard onto the bed as he can, and he hopes it fucking hurts. He feels a sliver of satisfaction when Billy cries out sharply and attempts to roll over, but Frank keeps him on his stomach, grabbing both his ankles and dragging him back towards him on the bed. "And this is for coming before me." 

Frank grabs the back of Billy's neck, shoving his face down into the mattress and angling his ass straight up in the air. He leans over him, entering him completely in one go, one wrought-iron bicep coiled beneath Billy, keeping his hips angled back. 

He rails the kid so hard he is openly sobbing into the mattress, holding on for dear life. He comes with a bitten off roar, not wanting Billy to know just how thoroughly wrecked he makes Frank feel, and pulls out of him as his knot catches, hurting them both. 

"You think you wanna be with me?," Frank sneers darkly. "You don't have a fucking clue. You'll always be the omega with me, Billy. You'll always be my bitch. You ready for that kind of life?" He stalks over to the pile of bags, grabbing up a towel and cleaning himself off before throwing it at Billy. "Ask Desmond sometime what it's like to take my knot day in and day out. Ask him how sore he gets, how fucking exhausted. You don't want this, Billy," he says, wiping the blood from his mouth with a fist. “Furthermore, I'm not a faggot."

“Fuck yes please Daddy,” Billy smiles up at him. “I want you to knot me next time though. It’s no fun having a sore arse if there’s no knot.” He beckons Frank back to bed.

“And I think I made it very clear what I want. I want you. And I’ve always been your bitch, Frank. I think you know that. Come here.”

"Fuck you," Frank sneers. He is shaking so hard he can barely stand, his head swimming, hot tears spilling down both sides of his face. He pushes these away with a fist as he stalks out of the room, nearly tearing the door off its hinges and slamming it so hard it bounces off the frame. He swipes a bottle of the dark red stuff (he has no clue what it is but it is definitely alcohol and right now that's all that matters) on his way to the bathroom, where he locks himself inside. 

It's at this precise moment that his stomach decides to completely eject its contents. Frank hits his knees in front of the toilet and heaves everything up until his kidneys ache. His head is pounding, skin clammy and covered with sweat, heart fluttering wildly in his chest. 

He makes his way to his feet slowly, lifting himself up to stare into the mercury-stained mirror, at a man he feels he barely knows anymore. When did he learn to talk like that? To his best friend no less?  _ He's not your best friend anymore _ , he reminds himself, and dry-heaves at the thought. He douses his face in cold water, scrubbing at his skin until it's raw, and decides to repeat the motion everywhere, until his entire body is wet and bright red and specked with blood.

When he is done and feeling no less filthy, he collapses into the empty tub, curling up with the red bottle, lifting his head every now and then to take a deep swig. If only he had some Rob Zombie or Pantera to listen to right now. Something to drown out the screaming in his head. He vaguely thinks he should find a better venue in which to host his pity party.  _ What if Billy needs to use the bathroom _ ?, his brain supplies. "Fuck him," Frank says aloud, and no that was definitely not his bottom lip quivering. His brain folows up with  _ you just did _ , to which Frank replies "Then fuck you too." 

If Billy has to man up and take a dump in the woods, then that's just what he'll have to do. The bottle of mystery booze is nearly empty when it tumbles from Frank's hand and onto the floor, the rumbling sound of a sleeping Alpha reverberating against the cheap tile.


	10. Chapter 10

Billy lets Frank get on with it. Contrary to what you might think, he isn’t taking this as a loss; Frank was never going to accept his own latent homosexuality in one fell swoop, and Billy can spot and monitor emotion like only the best manipulators can, so he knows that if he plays this right then eventually he’s on to a winner.

In the interest of not getting killed, he waits until Frank has started snoring until he sets to work with a screwdriver, taking off the lock. When Frank passes out he passes OUT, so Billy doesn’t have to worry about making any noise as he removes the bottle from within reach, and covers Frank with a blanket, placing a pillow under his head. Then he goes to pack up their gear - their time in the cabin has been very productive, but he thinks they are past due for getting out of there. A jaunt through the woods will help Frank with his hangover in any case.

For being 11,000 miles and an ocean away from home with members from their own unit actively wanting them dead, they are in pretty good shape. As any survivalist will tell you, having all four working limbs and a water source is key to making it out of anyplace alive. 

Frank crawls out of the tub a changed man. He gets over things pretty quickly--after all, when you are in the kind of work that could get you killed at any waking moment, grudges sort of become a non-issue. He sees Billy packing when he stumbles out of the bathroom, and quickly follows suit. He is still partially drunk, which is super fun, but it beats a secondary hangover and if they leave now he might be able to hike it off. 

He dresses in plain clothes, covering his alice pack with the fuzzy blanket from the living room floor. It smells like vodka and sex but it disguises his bag as just belonging to a friendly adventurer. He does the same for Billy’s, and within the hour they set off through the thick Russian undergrowth, machetes in hand. 

Frank takes 5 minutes to break down and/or disarm the parameters he'd set, in the interest of sparing an unwitting civilian, and with that they are on their way in deafening silence, moving like shadows among the sparse trees. 

"You know how to hotwire a vehicle?," is the first thing Frank says to Billy in 7 miles. He's a bit ashamed of himself, having worked on rebuilding all those classic cars over the years with his Pops and never learning that trick. Billy is a city boy who grew up dirt poor and ran the streets. Something like this should be right up his alley.

“Is the Pope a Catholic?” Billy replies cheerfully. He’s deliberately minimising any kind of tension between them - if his plan is going to work, and he’s decided it will, then Frank needs to feel that there is no problem or agenda between them. 

Before too long they arrive at the edge of a farm. It’s windswept and desolate, the cold air and cloud cover making everything seem grey and dull. There is almost no sound except the wind and faint clicking of tree branches already beginning to drop their leaves. It might as well be the end of the universe.

There doesn’t appear to be anyone around. The trick with hotwiring a car is that you need to pick one with gas in it, but they are just going to have to take a chance on that. Parked against the barn wall is a Range Rover - it’s battered and rusted, but the tyres look new, so someone is taking at least minimal care of it. 

“I don’t need to tell you to keep an eye out and cover me if someone turns up, do I?” Billy asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he runs over to the truck; he has to stifle a delighted shout at what he sees - thank god for country people, because not only is the truck unlocked, but the goddam keys are in it as well. He hops in nimbly and starts it up, driving past where Frank is hiding so he can hop in.

“Half a tank, not great but not bad,” Billy says with a smile. “Let’s see if we can not get shot between here and the embassy.”

"Nice work," Frank says, stowing their equipment in the back. It is at this moment that Frank would order Billy to move so that Frank could drive. He stands just outside the vehicle, one hand holding the open door. He takes a sharp breath inward, shoving down the knot he feels coiling in his stomach, and slides into the passenger seat with a huff. "Just stay off the main roads," He grumbles, being certain to showcase his displeasure.

“You don’t trust me to drive, Frankie?” Billy chides him. “You are grumpy today - I told you to stay off that questionable red liquor.” 

Billy fiddles with the radio as they head out of the farm - they drive past some locals who wave at the car, clearly recognising it, and then stare at them in confusion as they pass by. They listen to some uncomfortable folk music for a few minutes until Billy breaks and turns it off.

“I can not listen to that anymore. How far is the embassy? We will have to stop for gas at some point, which I guess will mean stealing some.”

"Fuckin' idiot," Frank grumbles. "Did I not tell you to stay off the main roads? See,  _ this _ , THIS right here is why I drive." He reaches back into the rear passenger seat and slides a long rifle out of a black case. "You realize what's gonna happen now, Billy? Huh?" He feeds in a full magazine and flicks on the scanner. "They're going to report it stolen, Billy. Then they're gonna put out an APB. Our C/O and his buddies are gonna be scanning the airwaves for suspicious activity in this area, Billy--IN THIS FUCKING AREA---and they are gonna be all over us like white on rice. I hope you're fucking happy. This kinda shit right here is why you'll never make Lieutenant. You're too fucking soft."

“We were on the drive. The drive that leads out of the farm,” Billy shouts back. “What did you want me to do? Show jump the car over the hedge? And if it means being anything like you I don’t want to be lieutenant. Asshole.” 

He means that last bit for just a moment and then regrets saying it. 

“I’m sorry, that was out of line.” He can see the city on the horizon now, and hopes that the embassy isn’t in a ridiculously hard to find area. All the signs are in Russian and he hasn’t got a clue what he’s doing.

As if reading his thoughts, Frank points to the GPS coordinates on the scanner. "We're about seven miles out," he explains. With that, Frank sits back, rifle in hand, tossing a look back behind them as the car rolls along.

Billy takes a highway exit, giving the places on the signs imaginary names to entertain himself. Greybuildingville, Nowheretown. A black car catches his attention in the rear view mirror; it’s hanging back, not overtly following, but there’s something about its body language that expresses intent. He watches it for a couple of minutes more and decides it’s definitely following them. He memorises the direction on the GPS and then takes a different route, hanging a sharp right to take them in the other direction.

“We’ve got some company,” he says lightly.

"A scout," Frank deduces. "I see three men so we can count on 6 pistols, possibly a rifle. But so long as we don't cause them trouble, they'll wait for the big guns to arrive." In so many ways, an urban setting would have been so much more preferable. A denser population would mean they would have been able to blend in so much more easily. "See if you can lose ‘em. We'll get into the trees and find a spot to hunker down. We can make our way on foot to the Embassy from there. You think we've got enough petrol left to gun it?”

“No I do not,” Billy replies. “But we’re a little out of options now aren’t we.” He floors the truck anyway, which already feels like it’s running on fumes, weaving in and out of traffic. Billy keeps an eye on the road behind him.

“Frank I think they’re gone,” he says once he’s sure he hasn’t seen the car for a few minutes. As he says this the Land Rover breathes its final death rattle, rumbling to a stop on a slightly more pleasant than normal street. It has wide sidewalks and a line of trees. 

“Well that’s it,” Billy murmurs. “We’re walking from here.” They get out of the truck and grab their backpacks, when the black car rounds the corner, moving fast.

"This is a fucking stupid place to do this," Frank gruffs behind his sargeant, side-swiping thier tracks in the leaves as they head down an embankment and into a dense, wooded area.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Billy rounds on him. “Sorry Frank did I not magically make the gas tank refill? Should I have done that? Or should I have been able to power the car with my mind?” He gestures into the air as if that’s how one conjures up extra fuel. “We need to keep moving. And find somewhere to camp. Feel free to do that somewhere else,” he calls over his shoulder, stomping off into the undergrowth.

"Ya know, Sergeant, we are still on duty," Frank barks, grabbing the stiff back of Billy's kevlar vest and hauling him back. "You wanna bitch and whine about my orders? You do it on your own goddamn time. We camp when I say we camp, IF i say we camp, and not a moment sooner? Is that understood, Russo?"

“Bitch please,” is all that Billy says before he watches the palm of his own hand connect with Frank’s face. The slap echoes in the woods, frightening some birds out of a tree; it even hurts Billy, so it must have been a good one. 

Then he turns and keeps walking, keeping his eyes on the tree line. He’s fully prepared for that to be the last thing he ever sees, because there’s no way that Frank isn’t going to shoot him after that.

He's almost correct in his assumptions. With a battle-cry, Frank charges at him at full speed, his huge body connecting with Billy's so hard it steals the air from his lungs. Both Alphas fall to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, Frank clamouring on top of Billy to deliver a devastating uppercut. "You hit like a bitch," he grinds out between clenched teeth, his canines flashing in the afternoon light, extending out past the gums like a wolf's, his Alpha nature taking over. The punch doesn't make him feel any better, so he hits him again just to be sure, and it baffles him when all that comes of it is the instant sting of regret. 

He releases him with a shove, pushing away to sit backwards on the damp ground, shaking and furious and confused as to why hot tears are blurring his vision.

“Nice way to make a lot of noise when we’re trying to disappear,” Billy sniffs, wiping blood from his nose. “All this because you can’t admit that you like kissing me, Frank. Now are we finding somewhere to camp or what?” He gets up and starts walking again, barely able to conceal the wide grin that flashes across his face on account of Frank’s emotional state. The plan is going well.

In a mile they come across a gargantuan hollowed out tree, the root system laid bare and coming out of the partially frozen earth like a little cave. Frank gathers some kindling, working in near silence as he builds a small fire that provides just enough heat to keep them from getting hypothermia, wary of how much smoke and light anything bigger would put off, giving away their location. He pretends to keep busy at the far end, one blanket spread across his lap as he cleans and re-cleans his guns. When the sun sets and it gets too dark to do that, he rests his rifle between his knees and stares out at the black abyss, and waits.

Billy sees him put down the gun and reads the room - Frank is terrified of talking but is ready to do so if Billy wants to initiate such a thing. Billy has some of the stolen vodka still in his bag - the bottle has enough to keep them warm but not enough to stop them being alert, and he takes that with him as well as his blanket, sitting down next to Frank and spreading the blanket over both their legs. He takes a swig from the bottle and then offers it to Frank.

“That’s all you get, can’t have you passing out out here,” he jokes by way of introduction. “Are you ok? It’s a lot to take in.” He wants to stroke the Alpha’s face - he’s impossibly beautiful in the low firelight- but manages to stop himself, placing a hand on his knee instead. 

“And I’m sorry I’ve been an insubordinate bitch all day.”

"How did you know Desmond asked for a baby?," Frank asks. It seems off-topic, a bit of a non-answer to the only person who is actively trying to mend things. In reality, it's a safe alternative to the same topic and as close as Frank can come to an attempt at talking about it without completely ignoring what happened.

“He told me,” Billy says. “One night when I came over. You did a you and passed out early,” he nudges Frank’s shoulder gently when he says this. “Desmond and I had a conversation....And he told me that you were going to put a baby in him during his next heat. Did you?” The thought of them returning to the US to find a fat, pupped up Desmond waiting makes him want to walk into traffic.

"No," Frank says softly. His voice trails off as he looks into the fire, the embers glowing red in his chocolate brown eyes. "And I think..." He stops here, looking away from Billy and the fire, clearing the lump in his throat. "I don't know."

Billy slowly puts his arm around the man he loves more than anything in the universe, very very gently encouraging him to lean closer.

“It’s ok to feel how you feel,” Billy says quietly. “I don’t want to freak you out or cause you to have a hard time about this but...I will wait for as long as you need. Because I....” he struggles for words, suddenly feeling desperate and choked up. “I feel a lot, for you.” It sounds crap but he’s still the more eloquent one out of the two.

Frank has spent a lifetime building up walls that hide his inadequacies. As an Alpha, emotions are weakness. As a commander of Special Forces, weakness gets you killed. Somehow, Frank knows, Billy has always been able to see through all the bullshit--Frank could snarl and puff up and posture all day long and it wouldn't fool him for a second. 

Frank takes Billy's hand, interlacing their fingers and drawing him closer into his arms. "What did I do to deserve you," He murmurs. He wants so badly to kiss Billy, to caress his face, to gentle him and tell him all the things he feels, but that last wall still stands, rigid and immovable, and his expression cools. "Let's get some sleep," he says suddenly, tossing the fuzzy blanket Billy's way, the blanket he has been carrying just for Billy, knowing how uncomfortable the ground would be for him.

“Yes let’s,” Billy laughs softly. He spreads the blanket out for both of them, and then slides his arm under Frank’s head at the last minute, acting as a pillow.

“Ssshh, don’t react, it’s ok,” he says when the Alpha goes to pull back. He cradles the back of Frank’s head with his other hand, pulling him in close, tracing small circles on his skin with his fingers. It’s essentially gentling, though Billy would never be suicidal enough to call it that.

“Just let yourself enjoy this,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Frank’s forehead.

Frank grunts a little but doesn't pull away. "Doesn't make any sense," He murmurs, partially to himself. "How come it feels so right with you? With us...even though we're both...?"

“You never can give yourself an easy time can you?” Billy asks, finally giving in and stroking Frank’s face, tracing over his lips. “It feels right because it is right, Frankie. You and me, that’s all that matters.” 

The kiss starts sweetly, almost hesitant, but it’s not long before it turns hungrier and more desperate. Billy can’t keep his hands off Frank, feeling like he wants to touch all of him at the same time.

“You didn’t knot me yesterday. I think we need to remedy that, don’t you?” He says, nipping at Frank’s jaw, hurriedly undoing his fly.

"Billy," Frank whispers, and it's almost a whimper, pulling away like it's painful to stop, because it is. When the kisses trail down his thick neck, his Adam's apple bobbing, his mouth drops open and he pulls Billy's t-shirt up, cupping both pectorals and squeezing down tightly on his nipples. 

He begins to rut between Billy's legs, a slow, sensual rolling motion, dipping his head down to collect a budding nub and bring it into his mouth. He cries out against it when Billy's hand wraps firmly around his stiffening cock, and it's all Frank can do to stop himself from coming right there on the spot. 

"Will you be my omega?," He asks weakly, not really certain what he's saying or why, but just knowing it sounds so right.

“Always,” Billy replies, pulling Frank up for another kiss. He wraps his legs around Frank’s waist, squeezing tightly and enjoying the way that it feels - their cocks rub together and it’s too good, hot and filthy and almost too much. 

“Pass me my bag.” Billy brought the olive oil with him because, well of course he did. One day he’ll get Frank to do this for him, but it’s probably a step too far for right now. He keeps kissing Frank while he slicks himself up to keep the Alpha from freaking out, and lies back down on his back when he’s ready, pulling Frank on top of him. 

“I want to see your face.”

Frank enters him slowly, and this time he keeps his eyes locked on Billy's as he lines himself up, angling upward against his puckered entrance and moaning loudly against Billy's lips as he works him open onto his cock. 

He cradles Billy's head as it rolls back to the blanket, shushing him gently, sweeping his tongue along his mating gland, biting down just enough to keep him still. Billy's scent is absolutely intoxicating---a granite tower by the sea surrounded by a wall of thorned roses, and he is all Frank's, Frank's and no one else's. "Sh, sh, sweetpea, I know," he rasps against his ear, gathering it into his mouth for a long suck. Inch by inch, Frank pushes himself in, stopping every now and then to let Billy's muscles do the work, and god do they ever. The man is a steel trap wrapped in velvet. 

He slides his hands down Billy's lithe form, exploring every silky inch of skin and watching his face intently when he grabs his swollen cock. Billy is long and slender here, too, his knot curving upwards so that his cock slaps his stomach with every thrust Frank delivers. 

"How long have you thought about me this way?," Frank asks, lazily fucking into him as he teases the head of Billy's cock with his thumb.

Billy laughs breathily in between the little breathy moans that Frank is pulling from him.

“This is the first time you’re having this conversation with me, and the second time I’m having it with you.” He runs both hands through Frank’s hair and down his back to cup his arse.

“I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you. There has never been anyone else for me, after that moment.” He captures Frank’s mouth in another kiss and rolls his hips upwards, clenching to make it tighter for the Alpha. Frank’s hand on his cock is electric. “God keep touching me like that please. I’ve thought about this so many times. Of touching you. I wish you could remember that first night. You were so perfect.”

"I do remember some of it, I think," Frank says, responding to Billy's command by angling his hips upwards until he is nearly seated on Frank's cock. "I remember you kissing me. Me kissing you." He throws both Billy's legs over his shoulders and leans so far over he's nearly folding him in two. Billy's tightness and heat are nearly unbearable, and Frank's eyes roll back in his head when Billy clamps down. "Shit, baby, careful," he gasps. "You're going to make me come."

“Oh god please, I need...” Billy is nearly incoherent, clutching at Frank’s back hard enough to leave deep scratches. “Harder. Like before.”

"I-I can't," Frank moans, nuzzling their lips together. "If I do that, I'm a goner, B. You're too much, you're so damn good." 

He continues a devastatingly slow pace, watching the smaller Alpha come undone beneath him. He swirls his thumb in the globs of pre-come oozing from Billy's cock, trapping it in his fist but keeping his wrist nice and loose. The soft slap of skin-on-skin fills the air, and Billy's hole flutters as he arrives at the abyss. Frank's knot responds urgently, filling out against his prostate and beginning to catch just past his entrance. 

"You ready for me, baby?" Frank growls possessively. He finally gives Billy what he wants---a brutal, punishing fuck-- just as ribbons of thick come stream from Billy's cock, coating thier bellies. Frank keeps a tight hold on Billy's knot, tearing another orgasm from him as Frank himself rockets over the edge, his knot expanding fully as he fills him. 

Alpha come can be a half gallon or more in volume, the knot lasting anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. Billy's body is rigid and unforgiving inside, so vastly different from Desmond, whose body conforms to the knot on contact, his channel expanding to wrap Frank in its heat. When Frank's knot seemingly has nowhere to go, a shockwave of pain and unimaginable pleasure tears through him. He continues to spill inside Billy as Billy holds him steady, cooing gentle words of encouragement as every last drop is wrung from him. 

He collapses on top, elbows in the blanket as he supports Billy's head, staring into his face by the light of the last dying embers of the campfire. He caresses Billy's cheek, giving him a tender kiss on both sides, then on the lips---it's timid, reverent, and perfect. 

"What does it feel like?," He asks, resting his chin on Billy's bare chest and tilting his head curiously. "The knot I mean. Does it hurt?"

Billy holds on to Frank tightly, memorising the way he feels, every inch of skin he can touch. 

“A bit, but in the best way,” he rubs their noses together, rippling his muscles in the way he imagines an omega would. “You feel so good.”

If anyone is still after them then their cover is well and truly blown, considering that Billy just spent the past half an hour screaming variations of Frank’s name and multiple swear words at the sky. He can honestly say he’s never come that hard in his life. 

“You are really fucking heavy though,” he smiles cheekily, threatening just a hint of a tickle - they are still well and truly stuck together and so Frank has nowhere to go.

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

They break camp hours before daylight, careful to douse the fire and cover their tracks as they set off further into the woods. Frank's GPS signal keeps going in and out, but he knows they are on the right track. So long as they continue in a southwest direction, they are bound to reach the embassy. "Four miles now," Frank says, patting Billy on the back. Both men have their rifles drawn, eyes scanning the barren trees for signs of their pursuers. "We're too close now," Frank deduces finally, lowering the barrel of his weapon. "They tailed us to the woods and probably ditched us back at the highway. They know where we are headed, not a doubt in my mind."

A towering wall begins to take shape out from among the branches, blinking red lights and uniformed guards atop the building no bigger than specks of sand. A mile later a high fence appears in front of them and they scale it easily, throwing their packs to the other side. Billy goes over first, being the lighter of the two, with Frank following suit. Where the forest ends there is a muddy two track and another fence beyond that. Frank points to a drone circling overhead. "Stay out of view of that thing. Here's what we are going to do: we are gonna sneak across that trail, to the fence, and we're gonna cut a hole. I'm going to go first---" Frank shushes Billy when he opens his mouth to argue, a finger to Billy's lips. "I am going first. If I make it inside the Embassy walls, we'll know we're in the clear and you can make a break for it." 

Frank doesn't need to be a mind reader to know Billy does not like this plan. At any time, things could go south. They don't know the whole story yet. It's possible people inside the Embassy have already been alerted to keep an eye out for the two of them. But right now, it's the only shot they've got. 

They cross the tank tracks together, helping each other over the huge, muddy ruts the armoured vehicles have made in the forest floor. They reach the fence and Billy takes out a pair of wire clippers, making a hole just big enough for Frank to slip through. He makes it halfway before he is met with a barrage of gunfire, slipping out just in time to dive behind a parked humvee and return fire. He can hear Billy screaming for him, and signals for him to go back into the woods and wait it out. He cannot risk the enemy---his own brothers, he realizes---discovering Billy before Frank can reach the safety of the Embassy. He makes a break for it, cutting a bee-line straight for the back entrance and diving into the alcove, around the solid brick partition and out of sight. Something isn't quite right with his leg, he realizes, sinking down into the steps amid men shouting, heavy boots pounding the pavement, the bullets sailing past his head to explode into the wall behind him. 

The double doors burst open and a bewildered guard appears, staring down at Frank questioningly, his mouth dropped open, gun drawn.

"Lieutenant Francis Castiglione!," He shouts, using his legal name. "United States Marine Corp! My partner is out there!," He shouts, gesturing to the thicket of trees he prays Billy is still hiding in. 

The guard nods hurriedly, tugging Frank inside as his body goes limp. "Yes sir," the guard says. "Why are we being fired upon?"

"Not we, me," Frank corrects. "And it's a long story, one I'd like to live to tell. Call a cease-fire and go get my Sergeant!"

The Marine Corp 2nd Battalion has impressive firepower, but it's no match for the fortress that is the U.S. Embassy. The loudspeaker blares the stand-down orders and the Marine Corp backs down. Several attempts are made to remove Frank from the floor but he shoves the hands away. "Get my Sergeant!," he bellows. 

"But sir, your leg..."

Frank glances down at the bloody mess, a fresh wound leaking a crimson fountain, the pool beneath it steadily expanding."Hmph," is all he says. The guard huffs, eyeing Frank as if he is a crazy man, and trots off into the woods the second the coast is clear. 

"Sgt Billy Russo?," he calls out. "Private First Class Jonhston. Your Lieutenant explained that you are seeking asylum. I am here to help." 

  
  


***********

  
  


"I told you to get off me!," Frank roars, tearing the clipboard from the Doctor's hands and sending it shattering onto the opposite wall. 

"Lt Castle, I really must insist. The bullet entered your femoral artery and you are losing blood at an alarming rate." 

"Then how can he possibly still have any fight left," The soldier behind him complains as he draws an arm around Frank's neck and wrestles him back to the gurney. 

"Get off me! I mean it! I'll kill you all! I've got to get to Billy!" Just as Frank manages to grab the poor doctor by the throat he sees the exhausted, relieved smile of his Lieutenant grace the doorway and drops the man like a sack of hot rocks. "Billy," Frank says, his voice nearly a whisper. Tears spring to his eyes as he holds his arms out. "It's okay, Billy boy. We did good. You did better than good. We're going to be okay now."


	12. Chapter 12

Billy feels sick watching Frank go down in the hail of bullets. There’s nothing he can do but scream, and then fight; the next few minutes are a barrage of noise, mud, anger and adrenaline. By the time a soldier approaches Billy with his hands up and loudspeaker, delivering a message of peace, Billy is about ready to kill everyone. The soldier has to repeat his message twice for Billy to lower his gun; his voice sounds like it’s underwater the first time, and Billy illogically wonders if he is speaking Russian. The boy looks young, almost like a cadet, which Billy knows can’t be true and wryly accepts as a sign that he’s getting old.  _ Does your mother know that you’re out _ , he thinks with an internal grin. 

He can hear Frank kicking off the second they get inside the base - base is not the right work for it, War Palace is probably more like it - and feels a wave of relief. He breaks into a jog, ignoring the shouts of others to slow down, shoving through a set of double doors and into the medical bay, where Frank is bleeding everywhere but also managing to still give people shit. 

“Yeah we are going to be alright,” Billy says in response to Frank’s slightly delirious welcome. “If you will let the doctors take care of you please?” He puts a hand on Frank’s shoulder - he wants to kiss him but they aren’t in that kind of space now. He would also like a good cry, but the above rule still applies. Apparently Frank Castle is the only person or thing on earth with a key card to Billy’s emotions. 

He contents himself with taking a chair and watching; everyone in the room would probably like him to leave, but considering that he is apparently the only thing that can stop a Castle Meltdown there’s no way they’re going to do that. He keeps eye contact with Frank until the Alpha finally succumbs to the injury and passes out; impassively watches as the blood bags are brought in, as the surgical team gets underway, lets the chaos and noise float over him. 

Once Frank is out of surgery he follows the bed into the medical wing and takes a seat next to it. He’s still covered in mud and god knows what but there’s no way he’s going anywhere. He watches Frank’s face, pale but peaceful now, and that’s the last thing he sees before he finally falls asleep.

*********

Frank shifts beneath the crisp bed sheets, wincing as the pain crackles around the edges of his senses. He looks to his right and runs a hand through Billy's hair, casting a protective gaze over his sleeping form---half in a chair and half slumped onto Frank's pillow. That's alright. Frank doesn't mind sharing.

Billy startles awake at the touch, jerking upright and immediately regretting it. His neck was not designed to sleep in that position. He winces and rubs the sore muscle sleepily, wondering what the hell is going on. Then he sees Frank, the drip, the hospital bed and remembers. 

“Fuck,” he says dryly, clearing his throat. “How do you feel? I’ll get a nurse,” he says quickly, going to stand up.

"Don't," Frank urges, pulling Billy back with a gentle tug. "How's your head anyways? I haven't checked those stitches in a while."

Billy laughs at that; it’s so typically Frank to worry more about Billy than himself. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “You nearly weren’t,” he adds quietly, daring to stroke Frank’s hand. “Do you remember refusing to be treated? You were a giant pain in the arse until I got there. You can’t die you know....” he chokes up on the last part, clearing his throat gruffly.

Frank laughs softly at this, his eyes filled with admiration. He interlaces their fingers together, swiping his tongue across his dry lips. "As it so happens, I was thinkin' the exact same thing about you. You did good out there Sergeant." Frank struggles to free his other arm from the tangle of tubes and bandages, finally letting out a frustrated grumble before giving up. "I can't reach up to you, B. I'm tryin' to kiss you, idiot."

“Oh well I am sorry, Lieutenant,” Billy says with mock seriousness, casting a quick look around before bending down to kiss him. 

“I wish I could climb in there with you,” he says, pressing a final kiss to Frank’s forehead. “When we get out of this I’m taking you to bed for a week. Somewhere fancy. No complaints.”

The sound of boots in the corridor makes them both snap out of it a bit - the sound has authority behind it, the faint echo of intent. Whoever is in command of those boots has purpose and clarity.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Security Chief Curtis Hoyle has had just about enough of this madness. First Chief William Rawlins alerts the embassy to possible deserters heading their way, then said deserters show up in a blaze of gunfire from their own people. 

He is in no mood for pleasantries as he opens the door to the makeshift hospital room, tossing a flippant salute in reply as he comes to stand at the foot of Frank's bedside. "Lt Castle? Sgt Russo? My name is Curtis Hoyle, I am the US Army Chief of Security, Russia division. I have had a thorough discussion with your C/O. He is demanding I hand you over to stand trial for desertion. However, the little stunt he pulled yesterday--" He ignores the comment when Frank turns to Billy and mutters "It's tomorrow already?" --"Makes me think there is more to the story than what he's letting on." Here, he pauses to slide a metal chair up to the edge of Frank's bed, and sits down with a sigh. "You boys probably haven't heard, and I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you, but the rest of your squadron...they....they didn't make it." 

"Coulda’ told you that," Frank mutters bitterly. "They weren't supposed to, and neither were we." He recounts the events leading to their current state---tells how Lieutenant Russo took a shot in the head and fell off the sniper's tower, that Frank carried him off into the woods where they hid out for a few days until Billy recovered. And how they were trailed the moment they took off for the Embassy. Frank's gaze wanders to Billy's face, watching the emotion flicker in his deep brown eyes. His fingers itch for Billy's touch, and Frank makes a fist in the sheets instead.

"I'm sorry you boys are going through all this, but you're safe here. For now, at least. A counselor from Witpro is on their way. She'll be here in a moment to explain the process. When you get back to the States, you'll be set up under new aliases until my men and I can figure out what's going on. Now I want you to be prepared--there will most likely be a trial, weeks, maybe months from now. During this time it is imperative you have zero contact with family or friends going in, is that clear?"

"Like a bell," Frank says with a sharp nod. "Trust me Chief, we want to see this asshole go down just as bad as you do." 

Curtis nods, and with that Frank and Billy once again have the room to themselves. Frank doesn't wait more than a few seconds before taking Billy's hand again. "You're all the family I need," he says, kissing his knuckles.

Billy would be lying if he said that the idea of a few months holed up with Frank didn’t make him feel giddy. He makes a mental note to not sound too excited about witness protection when he speaks to the counsellor. Hopefully they’ll get a nice house. Some of the places were amazing - best case scenario would be somewhere remote. Billy plans on making a lot of noise. 

The counsellor is nice enough, unemotional and clearly just ticking boxes, which they are both more than happy to go along with. A nurse removes the stitches from Billy’s forehead; there isn’t much of a scar, which he is curiously disappointed about. That wound was the beginning of everything good that had happened over the last few days - normally he would be more protective over his aesthetic, but this is different....

They spend two weeks waiting for Frank to be well enough to travel. He does well for the first couple of days, then gets an infection which almost wipes him out. Billy spends the time pacing the corridor, terrified and unable to express to anyone the sheer extent of his anguish. Eventually Frank begins to respond to the antibiotics and Billy can finally sleep after 48 hours of staring blankly at the heart monitor. Two days after that Frank is well enough to start being grumpy again, which is taken as a good sign by all. The lack of contact is frustrating - apart from a brief stolen kiss here or there they can’t really touch each other, and by the end of the second week Billy is sour and uncomfortable. He almost cheers when their flight is announced.

“You look different,” he remarks to Frank as they get into the car that will take them to the airport. The Alpha does look different, lighter somehow, though still pale from two weeks of hospitalisation.

"I feel like it too, B." Frank shifts uncomfortably in his street clothes, pulling at the collar of his cotton tee shirt. Frank never thought he'd long for the thickness and weight of Kevlar. He feels practically naked, in dark jeans and tennis shoes, with only a black hoodie to hide in. Which he does. Alot. Pulling it over his eyes and hunching his shoulders so the only thing visible is the well manicured, tightly styled goatee and beard he's started growing. He ceases his pouting just long enough to do a double-take at Billy, in his immaculate, double-breasted black overcoat and gray cashmere scarf and his..... what is that, glinting in the light? Billy's dark hair flashes with just the tiniest streaks of red when he turns his head. 

"Billy Russo," Frank chides, elbowing him teasingly. "Did you dye your hair?"

“Yes,” Billy nods happily. “I am going to indulge in one of the great civilian pleasures - fashion. You look fucking great with that beard by the way. And the hoodie.” He leans closer to Frank to whisper in his ear. “I can’t wait to take it off.”

He fusses over Frank like an old maid while they take their seats, causing a minor fight when he won’t let the Alpha carry his bag. 

“Will you let me look after you for once in your life,” he hisses, batting Frank’s hands away from the strap. “Just let me carry it, you won’t die.”

"Don't think I've ever been in a plane I wasn't s'posed to jump out of," Frank muses, flipping the tray up and down as if it's some sort of complicated contraption. "Where'r ya supposed to store your extra ammo?"

“Oh you are too precious,” Billy says, now fussing over the armrest. He pulls out an extra blanket and tucks it over Frank’s knees, having the sense to dodge the hand that tries to swat him out of the way.

“Stop it,” he says sharply, smacking Frank on the arm. “Take your love and care like a man, you got shot two weeks ago. Drink?” There is a bucket of champagne in a holder next to their seats. The jet is lovely, all polished wood and smooth leather, with a carpeted walkway and low level lighting. Billy could get used to this. He needs to find a way to become stinking rich, he thinks to himself.

Frank takes a quick swig of the stuff in his glass, holds it in his mouth for two seconds and promptly spits it back out. "Don't drink that," He grumbles, grabbing Billy's away. "This beer's gone bad."

“Give me back the Bollinger, caveman,” Billy laughs, taking back the glass. He looks around and realises that they are completely alone; all the cabin crew are elsewhere or otherwise engaged. He puts the glass down and pulls Frank into a deep kiss, hot, desperate and full of longing.

“I’ve missed touching you,” he says against Frank’s lips. “It was torture in the hospital, and you were so ill and....” what he wants to say is ‘I love you’, but for some reason the words won’t come, still trapped behind a layer of fear.

"Don't," Frank says, pulling away gently. He sees the look of despair and anguish on Billy's face, and swallows hard, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. Frank's face is practically on fire, glowing a bright tomato red as he gently throws the blanket across both of them, letting his hand wander over Billy's dress shirt, feeling the swift rise and fall of his chest, running his fingers over Billy's stiff nipples before delving lower. "We gotta be quiet, sweetpea," Frank murmurs, flicking open Billy's fly. "Can you do that? Can you be good for me?" His lips hovering close to Billy's ear, he continues whispering little encouragements, praising his discreteness as he buries his hand between Billy's legs and squeezes firmly. "Shit, you're already wet for me," he groans, feeling his own cock twitch to life inside his jeans.

Billy grabs at the back of the chair as Frank’s hand finds his cock.

“I want...I need...please....fuck,” he murmurs in a string of nonsense. At this point he wouldn’t care if the whole plane came out to watch, as long as he has Frank’s hands on him. He still struggles to feel the permanence in whatever this is that they have, and it feels like Frank will just up and vanish in a puff of smoke. 

He grinds up into Frank’s hand, gripping those huge arms and kissing him messily.

"Billy," Frank warns, removing his hand. He looks away, towards the pilot's cabin. "We have to be careful. Don't misunderstand, okay? I like you. And, I..." here he pauses, licking his lips nervously. "I like  _ this _ . But I'm not.... you know. I'm not like that."

Billy has no option but to take action to disguise the fact that he is about to laugh. 

“Of course you aren’t,” he says reassuringly before bending over Frank’s lap, pulling the blanket over his head. On account of being absolutely not gay at all, Frank is rock hard in his trousers, and Billy allows himself a muted giggle whilst he pops open Frank’s fly and takes out his cock. He takes it down like he’s been starving for it, and he has, sucking hard and setting a fast rhythm. He’s not trying to make it last, they don’t have time for that. He wants to make Frank come and know it’s for him. He gets a hand inside the alpha’s jeans and gives his knot a squeeze; the precome on his tongue is salty and hot, and he groans quietly when he feels Frank pulse in his throat.

"Billy," Frank means to growl but it comes out as a bitten off whimper. "D-don't...." He makes a valiant attempt at pulling Billy off his cock and chokes down a cry when it results in Billy swallowing him down whole. He comes hard, his body once again seemingly having no problem betraying him to its urges. He throws his head back as he spills into Billy's mouth, riding out the aftershocks as his knot expands. He backs as far into the seat as possible, trying to pull out, but it is clear that Billy intends to make Frank knot his mouth. It is a dangerous move, one that could result in a broken jaw or worse. Frank has literally nowhere to go, and can do nothing to stop his knot from filling Billy's mouth completely, strong streams of seed gushing out. Breathless, he collapses against the seat. 

Billy has never come untouched before. He guessed it was something that happened to other people, and always cynically wrote it off as overrated or made up. However fate has a funny way of proving us wrong, and the moment that Frank’s knot forces his mouth open and he feels hot come hit the back of his throat, he loses it, spilling inside his expensive silk underwear. It goes on and on in a spiral of unbelievable pleasure, and he lets himself be swept away with the tide, focusing only on Frank’s hand in his hair and the knot still pulsing behind his teeth. This was a risky move, but by some luck no one bothers them. Once Billy is able to pull off he sits up, looking Frank straight in the eye.

“I love you,” he says simply. The beat in between that and his next heartbeat is a deafening chasm of fear, and he prepares himself for heartbreak.

"I know," Frank answers. It sounds trite, but it's the truth. Somehow from day one he knew that whatever was going on between them was special, something he didn't have a name for. It was there in Billy's hunger to challenge Frank's every command, there in the way Frank's heart would skip a beat whenever Billy walked into the room. How Billy could steer Frank's emotions easier than the sea in a storm, and in the twinge of jealousy Frank felt whenever Billy would chum it up with some of their mutual buddies when he thought Frank wasn't looking. 

And he thinks, maybe, it's possible that he loves Billy too. He knows that he loves him like a brother, and that's exactly why he keeps his mouth shut. Because he knows, just as Billy does, that that's not the "I love you, too" Billy is looking for.

Frank turns to the window, watching as Russia disappears beneath a blanket of gray and white clouds, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. "So, how do we do this?," Frank says finally, tucking himself back in as nonchalantly as possible and firmly denying to acknowledge the glow of heat on his face. "When we get back to the states, we can have a fresh start. We could be anybody we want. So..." His eyebrows twitch downward and he gathers Billy's hand in his own, kissing the back of it. "Do you wanna..... would you like to.... maybe pretend we are married?"

Billy’s emotional state has done a 180 in the last two minutes and he isn’t entirely sure what his reaction should be. He’s well aware that ‘do you want to pretend that we’re married’ is as close to an ‘I love you too’ as Frank is going to get right now, so he pushes down his insecurity and anxiety and leans in for a brief kiss. 

“Yeah,” he says, nuzzling Frank’s cheek. “Yeah I would.” He rests his head on Frank’s shoulder and lets himself doze, not exactly fast asleep but not awake either. He has a half dream about falling and jolts up with a start as they hit turbulence. 

“Fuck, how long was I out for?”

Frank chuckles, kissing the top of his new 'husband's' head. "Long enough." He nods out the window, where the bluish outline of the smoky mountains come peeking out of the fog. "I suppose the first stop when they drop us off wherever we're going to be..." Frank lifts Billy's left hand, running a thumb over his purple knuckles "...is going to be to the jewelers. I'm gonna get you a ring."


End file.
